On a stockpile of erasers.

When I am dead and my son comes to empty my house, he will find a small suitcase on top of my wardrobe crammed with the erasers I that I have amassed throughout my life. On every trip I have made, whether on the island or abroad, I have never been able to restrain myself, I have always bought erasers of different colors and sizes. My son will be baffled, he will perceive it as an old man’s whim. Perhaps I should explain to him that it has been my particular way of frustrating time’s attrition, postponing death and sustaining the illusion that one can always erase everything and make a fresh start.

- From THE LAST BROTHER, by Nathacha Appanah

Clinical counseling.

Me and Friday.

Psychologist as novelist.

(via)

Hello, Pablo.

In the summer of 1955, Frederick Baldwin, a college student at Columbia University, set out on a pilgrimage of sorts, hoping to meet Pablo Picasso. Baldwin traveled first to Le Havre(presumably by boat), then headed south, down to Vallauris and Cannes, until he eventually reached Picasso’s home on the Riviera, known as Villa la Californie. It took a little craftiness and moxie, but the young American gained entrance into Picasso’s studio. And there he was, the great painter himself, wearing shorts, sandals and not much else.

More than five decades later, Baldwin has produced an elegant e-book (available for free right here) that uses photographs and text to preserve the memory of this defining moment.

This is where self-publishing comes into its own – a project that might or might not have been accepted by one of the big houses, but was instead directed entirely by the author, a project not for profit but purely for the sake of sharing an experience. (via open culture)

 

Keyboard waffles.

I’m so hungry right now.

Being introverted during the holidays.

With the holidays approaching, it seems appropriate to point you toward this article regarding your loved ones and their introversion. Excerpt:

 

Do you know someone who needs hours alone every day? Who loves quiet conversations about feelings or ideas, and can give a dynamite presentation to a big audience, but seems awkward in groups and maladroit at small talk? Who has to be dragged to parties and then needs the rest of the day to recuperate? Who growls or scowls or grunts or winces when accosted with pleasantries by people who are just trying to be nice?

If so, do you tell this person he is “too serious,” or ask if he is okay? Regard him as aloof, arrogant, rude? Redouble your efforts to draw him out?

If you answered yes to these questions, chances are that you have an introvert on your hands—and that you aren’t caring for him properly. Science has learned a good deal in recent years about the habits and requirements of introverts. It has even learned, by means of brain scans, that introverts process information differently from other people (I am not making this up). If you are behind the curve on this important matter, be reassured that you are not alone. Introverts may be common, but they are also among the most misunderstood and aggrieved groups in America, possibly the world…

 

We aren’t rude; we’re introverted. (Except for when we’re being rude.)

A V-Reader for the holidays?

As a professional counselor who has worked with kids of all ages and sizes, and as a former teacher, and as a human being, I implore you: don’t buy this garbage for your children. You will be doing them a disservice. (hat tip to LT Tim)